The Eastern Shore
by me 4evaful
Summary: The Eastern Shore of Valinor is usually completely deserted, yet there he sat, thinking of the eternal divide within him as Death makes its final trip to the Undying Lands.


The Eastern Shore

The eastern shore of Valinor was by no means popular. For the most part rocky, with a small stretch of sand upon which boats had once pulled up, only to be burnt as the new inhabitants sought to look forward, further west. Any civilisation, any home was at least a day's ride away, and with so little out here, only nostalgia could bring anyone back to this small stretch of sand, hidden away. And nostalgia was something most people in Valinor came to escape.

Yet here he sat, looking out into the vast expanse of sea as the sun set behind him.

While the curvature of the earth hid Valinor completely from those looking out west from the mainland, those on the mainland had built a tall tower on the coast in a vague hope that maybe, any elf looking east from Valinor might just glimpse it and smile. Not knowing how far Valinor was, they had not known how tall to build it, and for the most part had, quite literally, fallen short. But they had put a spire on top, and on a clear day, when the sun was in exactly the right position, those with keen eyesight, even by elvish standards, could glimpse it for a moment, a flash of a star on the horizon in the late afternoon. But that day was far from a clear day, with ominous clouds moving east that caught the last glimmers of the sun, turning them a murky purple. It would rain in Middle Earth that night.

Legolas found it very difficult to care, looking out over the sea in silence. He savoured this moment of solitude, thinking over the fleeting lives of those who had torn him so very much in two.

First to pass had been Meriadoc. The young hobbit he had known, perhaps slightly more sensible than his eternal companion, had changed almost beyond recognition when he had arrived in Gondor in the twilight of his life. Merry had offered a few choice words to Peregrin, also fast approaching his own natural end, that they would meet in the world beyond this one.

No such world would Legolas see.

It did not take long for Pippin to pass. He may not have been claimed by illness, but simply by an exhaustion of this plane of existence. He had reached the end of his reserves of energy some time ago, and had only really been staying out of a love of Merry. He remained long enough to bid a very fond farewell to his friends and family, before practically beckoning death to come for him. His breathing stopped in his sleep.

Legolas knew that exhaustion all too well. He knew that feeling of staying in a place that would never feel whole to him again only to savour those last moments of companionship. Yet he was offered no quick release of death.

Last to go was Aragorn. Dying as age finally took him, gifting him the long life that was afforded solely to the Dúnedain, he finally passed over to be succeeded by his son. As the kingdom mourned, Legolas had finally been released from his oath, free to sail across the sea with his own companion. But it was his turn to leave someone then. He had tried once more to beg the Lady Arwen to come with him, though he knew it was in vain. She too would join her husband in the next world, a choice only afforded to one of the line of Luthien.

Legolas had once thought of that as a curse, but now he thought her choice of a mortal life was a gift, and one that he envied.

He had sailed in a matter of weeks, arriving at the very beach on which he now sat at dawn. A glance back east as he arrived gave him little more than a view of the flat expanse of ocean, with little to offer than going forward.

He had been greeted by the bittersweet sight of Lord Elrond, to whom he had given the news of Elessar's passing and Arwen's choice to remain and die. Elrond had known it was destined to pass, but Legolas knew that his boat had represented the ancient lord's final hope of his daughter coming back to him. His fractured heart finally broke, and Legolas was left with a feeling of guilt and failure.

He had arrived in time to see the last days of Frodo. Samwise had passed nearly a year prior to his arrival. The news had left an unwanted twist in his stomach at his choice to stay for as long as he did, staying with his mortal friend in one realm at the expense of those here, for whom the passage of time still had an effect. It was his first taste of the lie of the Undying Lands.

His next taste came a matter of days after his arrival, as he watched Frodo on his deathbed. Frodo had been glad to see them, no matter how briefly, to greet them with a final goodbye. He, like Pippin, like Arwen, had grown tired. When his illness came for him one final time, the last remnant of Sauron's now-lost power over the earth, Frodo did not fight it. He welcomed it, embracing death like a friend he had longed to see for a long time.

And finally, _finally_ , the last to go had been Gimli. The dwarf had been ready for a while, and offered Legolas words of comfort with a wisdom that rivalled Lord Elrond himself. That had been the previous morning. It had been a long time coming, and Legolas had seen Death come to Valinor one final time. His heart had shattered as he finally saw the lie of the Undying Lands. He had been a fool not to see it before. For Valinor was a fate for immortal beings, and mortals had their own fate. They could see the world where nothing died, but they would never truly be a part of it. Death comes for mortals, and to pretend that Valinor was the end, that they could share in the gift of the Valar, was a fool's fantasy.

Legolas was rudely jerked out of his reverie by the soft sound of sand shifting behind him, indicating that his solitude had come to an end. He did not turn around though, not caring beyond a brief musing of who might have followed his journey.

"A storm is heading east," Gandalf said, announcing his presence.

Legolas didn't reply, though he felt a flash of relief that at least it was Gandalf. He, at least, had some knowledge of his pain, as opposed to his father. He loved his father, and knew that the former king loved him, but Thranduil had never understood this divide in him, and was woefully unequipped to offer platitudes of any real meaning.

"Your friends and family are worried about you," Gandalf continued as he sat down next to Legolas. When he offered no reply, Gandalf ploughed on. "We decided I would probably be the wisest choice to find you."

Legolas shrugged. "You're probably right."

"It does not get easier, does it?" Gandalf asked.

Legolas could think of no reply to this, so picked up a stick in the sand for the sake of something to do. Gandalf at this point produced a pipe.

"Do you mind?"

Legolas glanced sideways at the pipe, before shrugging once again. "It is fair to say I am used to it now."

"Most elves find the habit absolutely repulsive," Gandalf said. "They may not be wrong, but it is a comfort to me."

Legolas simply closed his eyes as Gandalf filled his pipe from a small leather pouch and drew a long breath. As he exhaled, a familiar smell Legolas had not encountered in many years engulfed them, and Legolas finally looked around at his companion.

"Longbottom leaf," Gandalf offered by way of explanation. "Conditions here aren't quite right for it. I make do, but this comes from the Shire. I doubt I will ever get pipe weed as fine again, so I tend to save it for special occasions. I feel the passing of our last companion is as good a reason as any."

Legolas' throat closed up at the mention of Gimli. "He would… he would like that," he whispered.

The pair fell into silence as Gandalf continued to enjoy it. Legolas found an odd comfort in the act, remembering how much he had hated it when he had first begun to travel with the Fellowship. The silence stretched out for several minutes, before a thought settled that allowed Legolas to finally put into words a feeling he had longed to voice for many years.

"Do you remember…" he began, speaking fast, but stilted, as phrases came in short bursts, "…when you came back to us… in Fangorn… Do you remember… what you said to me?"

Gandalf paused. He looked over at the elf, who was no longer looking out to sea, but was not meeting his eye. "The words of Lady Galadriel?"

"Yes."

"I remember them well," Gandalf said. " _If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more._ "

"I think she was wrong," Legolas said softly. "I do not think my heart will ever rest again. For years I yearned for the sea. I thought I would find peace here."

"You took those words to mean your death at the time."

"I think I would have preferred that they had."

"Do you?"

Legolas fell silent. "I spent years watching my people leave these shores, being the only one who still remained. I waited, as my father's kingdom slowly emptied. For a long time I felt very alone. Aragorn and Gimli suffered from age, and through them I felt the passage of time as elves are never meant to. Then, finally, we left, though even then I was rent from Arwen, the one person who remained who understood. And I come here, where I was promised peace. Instead all I find is that I look back. _This_ was the doom Lady Galadriel promised. I was naïve then not to see it, to think death was the worst thing to fear."

Gandalf drew a final breath from his pipe. "The love of your friends has bound you to Middle Earth, while the love of your family bound you to Valinor."

"I knew this was what would come of our quest," Legolas said softly. "I knew that our time in Middle Earth was done. Either we succeeded and my people would leave, and give the world over to mortals, or we would fail, and Sauron would take the world. It was not a choice I would wish upon anyone."

They fell back into silence. Gandalf refilled his pipe, noting sadly as he did so that it was the last of the Longbottom leaf. A fitting time to finish his supply.

"I fear it is my curse," Legolas said. "To be forever torn in two. Half of me tied to my race and my family, half of me tied to my mortal friends who have gone where I cannot."

"You truly wish to meet their end?" Gandalf asked, his tone neutral though his eyes flashing slightly with worry – not that Legolas had met them yet.

"Yes," Legolas breathed. "No… I do not know which I would rather. Unlike Arwen, I did not get a choice. It pains me to watch my friends leave, but to leave my family? I do not know. I was restless in Middle Earth, but I have found no rest here. This is my end though. I brought Gimli to share in it with me, but I was a fool to think my end could also be his. He had his own end, and I could not stop it. I could not share in his, and he could not share in mine."

"You have been divided for a long time," Gandalf said. "Too long, I think. Now, it may feel like you are destined to be divided forever, but you must allow yourself to heal."

Legolas gave a short bitter laugh. "Gimli said something very similar. He made me make a promise to him. He said _'For years, I have watched you tearing yourself in half, trying to reconcile the two sides of yourself. Promise me, laddie, promise me that you'll make yourself whole again. Look back on us as a fond memory, but confine us there. Move on. You were not meant to spend eternity grieving.'_ "

Legolas finally met Gandalf's eyes, and the wizard saw for the first time that they sparkled with unshed tears.

"They were some of the last things he ever said," the elf finished, discarding the stick with more vehemence than necessary.

Gandalf sighed. "He is right, though," he muttered softly.

Legolas allowed himself a small smile. "He is wiser than a dwarf has any right to be."

Gandalf chuckled. "I thought elves were meant to be the wise ones."

"Well, when have Gimli and I ever done what our races were meant to?"

The pair gave a soft laugh, before falling into companionable silence. The sun had completely disappeared behind them, leaving only a soft afterglow to the west, and the purple and yellow sky to the east had dulled to greys.

"The tide is coming in," Gandalf mused at last.

"We should probably head back," Legolas muttered softly.

Gandalf blew a final smoke ring that drifted out over the sea. They slowly got to their feet, watching the ring dissipate in the wind, before turning back and walking towards the sunset, the last two members of the Fellowship mourning the final passing.

END

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 **A/N: I know I've been gone for a very long time. I'm slowly starting to reconnect with Fanfiction, so wrote this little scene kind of as a way to get back into it. I do plan on finishing my other story,** _ **Distractions**_ **, eventually, but I hope you enjoyed this little scene in the meantime. I might write a scene just after Aragorn's death, which I referenced here, of Legolas asking Arwen one last time to join him on his ship, as a second chapter, but I hope you enjoyed this one!**


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